


Lincoln`s rebellion

by MichisAccount



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, The Sunne in Splendour - Sharon Kay Penman, The White Queen (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:40:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichisAccount/pseuds/MichisAccount
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After staying at Henry VII`s court for nearly one and a half years after his uncle`s death, John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, abruptly left it to go to Burgundy and support a rebellion. Here are a few moments he may have lived through, from his decision to do so on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The court was becoming unbearable.

When his uncle Richard`s court had been buzzing with absurd rumours that he wished to marry his cousin Elizabeth, when his uncle had been grieving, the threat of an invasion had hung over them all, everyone seemed to suspect everyone else, John had thought that it could not get any worse. That there was no possible way the tenseness, the suspicions, the gloom that hung over them all could possibly be topped. He had looked forward to the future, to a time after the invasion was over, a time in which his uncle would be married to his second wife and England would be at peace again - and, if he was honest, to a future in which he continued as his uncle`s heir.

But everything had turned out differently, and John had to see he had been mistaken. Life at court could be worse than it had been after his aunt Anne`s death, and currently, it was. Everyone still seemed to be suspicious of everyone else, and this time he was among those who were suspected. No one had told him so, of course - he was treated like a honourable member of his cousin Elizabeth, the future queen`s, family - but he was not an idiot. He was perfectly able to notice how he was being watched, was able to understand the slight, as if incidental, snubs directed at him by Tudor`s men as what they were: subtle ways of testing his loyalty. John did not react to them as he wished he could, but he chafed under them. Chafed under being treated like he was only a minor noble, of no particular importance. He, who was legitimately descended from kings, whose uncles had been kings, who had been heir to the throne. He who had more royal blood than the new king, who owed his throne to having been lucky in battle and having relied on more skilled warriors to win it for him. His blood claim was laughable, despite his best attempts to pretend it was not so.

But it seemed like he would just have to learn to deal with it. What else could he do? He could barely visit his own parents without being trailed by Tudor`s suspicious men, and though he still had connections all over the country and did his best to keep them, what use were they in such a situation? What could he do? 

Winter passed with such gloomy considerations. John attended Tudor`s wedding with his cousin Elizabeth, even brought a suitable gift, and pretended to be happy their families were now connected. He smiled politely when Tudor asked him, half in jest and half-suspiciously, if he enjoyed having a king as a cousin, and answered that he enjoyed it almost as much as having such a beautiful queen as a cousin, swallowing his reply that having a king as an uncle had agreed more with him. Tudor, however, seemed to be satisfied with his answer, even giving him a smile before looking at his new wife. John thought he seemed quite smitten with her. Well, good for him. The marriage was designed to unite Tudor`s own laughable claim to the throne with that of Elizabeth, but Elizabeth was illegitimate, no matter what Tudor had made Parliament rule. No matter if everyone pretended otherwise now. Tudor`s claim was in no way strengthened by espousing her, so if he at least enjoyed being married to Elizabeth, the marriage was not completely useless to him.

What Elizabeth thought of her new bridegroom, John did not know. She looked happy enough, but she could hardly have done anything else. But probably, whatever she thought of Tudor, she was satisfied with the match as such. After all, it made it possible for her to call herself Queen of England. If she also happened to like Tudor, that was good for her, but ultimately secondary. 

Whatever she was thinking, to the court, she gave every indication of being happy in the weeks after her marriage, and John thought it was probably not feigned. She laughed a lot, dressed in fine clothes and seemed to enjoy her role at court. Several times, she also spoke to him, asked him if he was doing fine, if her cousin his wife would soon join them at court, if his parents were in good health, telling him she was glad he would be at court when her husband started a tour of the country as soon as winter was over. It were trifles, something a woman in her now suddenly exalted position was almost expected to say to a relative, and she seemed genuinely interested in what he answered, but John found such conversations difficult nonetheless. He mastered them as he had been taught from childhood, returning polite courtesies without showing negative feelings even though he had them, but it annoyed him nonetheless. Was that how he would live for the rest of his life? Defering to a man who had little claim to the throne as his king, defering to his illegitimate cousin as his queen, being treated as though he was no more than a minor noble, never showing his true feelings? Pretending he was glad the uncle he had liked was dead, pretending he did not remember he had been his heir and had a better claim to the throne than anyone else, certainly more than the man now occupying the throne?

The longer this went on, the longer John was convinced he would not be able to do so. He could not spent the rest of his life thus, pretending to be thankful to Tudor for every small advancement he received though it was his by right anyway. Pretending he was not, actually, the rightful king since his uncle`s death. But what he wanted to do about it, he was not sure until one day, when he arrived at court for Elizabeth - still uncrowned queen - to greet him effusively about a month after her wedding. “My lord cousin!”, she almost exclaimed upon seeing him and when he bowed to her to kiss her hand, she lifted him up immediately. “I am so glad to see you”, she said, sounding as if she meant it, and gave him such a wide smile he could not help but return it, even sincerely. , After all, it was not her fault she was queen to Tudor and she would in any case have been an idiot not to enjoy the position this gave her, “The pleasure is mine, your grace”, he therefore returned with genuine warmth. Her smile only grew and she took his arm. “I have something to tell you, John”, she said. “Oh, you won`t believe it - I have told no one but He - his grace the king and my lady mother yet, but - I feel like I`ll explode if I don`t tell someone else!”

“I will take whatever you tell me to my grave, your grace”, John answered, even as a suspicion rose within him. But surely it couldn`t be. It was far too early for her to say - “I think I am with child, John”, Elizabeth said, her voice almost cracking with excitement though she tried to keep it low. “It is very early, of course, but all the symptoms -”

For a moment, John was lost for words. She would have an heir. Tudor would have an heir. Theoretically, he had known this would happen sooner or later - after all, that was why they had married - but the thought was shocking nonetheless now that it was suddenly so real. Tudor would have an heir. He would be followed on the throne by his son, a boy who would have as little claim to it as he did, and he and his future children, should he ever have any, would be forever dependent on their goodwill. Would have to forever pretend their claim to the throne was not better.

After a moment, John found his voice to say the proper congratulations, to ask when she would be certain, when they could all expect to rejoice in the birth of an heir to the throne, to voice his pleasure that she had been able to tell her husband such good news before he went on his royal progress. His voice was not shaking, was even joyful, but he felt like he was choking on every word. It could not go on like that. It could not. Her child had not right to the throne, and he would not forever defer to someone who did not.

Even while he spoke with Elizabeth, he started thinking about how he could do something against it. Tudor would soon go on his progress, on which he would doubtlessly be more vulnerable than he was in London, but what did that help him? He would not be accompany him and even if he did, the only way to attack him would be personally, and that would result in his own death, which hardly seemed a tempting perspective. But what else could be done?

In the end, it was Elizabeth who innocently brought him the proper idea. She was practically glowing with happiness - and had it been for any other cause, John would have whole-heartedly rejoiced for her, as she was a nice person - and even while they spoke of different matters, she kept returning to the child she was carrying, and when she said that her heir would show everyone who did not want to believe it her husband was truly rightfully on the throne, a thought hit him, a recollection of a man who, like him, understood that Tudor was nothing of the sort.

Lord Lovell. Uncle Richard`s loyal best friend.

John continued his conversation with Elizabeth even while he was mentally slapping himself for not having thought of him earlier, not having thought of Lord Lovell, who had refused to accept Tudor as king. Who, unlike him, had not even done it insincerely. He wasn`t mentioned at court, but rumours had flown in autumn, that Tudor had wanted to pardon him, to bring him to court in a show of mercy and reconcilation, and that Lord Lovell had had a few choice words to say about such a proposition. Rumours had been wild, saying he had attacked the messenger bringing him the offer of pardon, had spat at him, had hurled death threats at him to deliver to Tudor. John had not known how much of those rumours were true, but he had known Lord Lovell well at his uncle`s court, had seen him and his uncle together so often. From all he knew about him, none of the stories were far-fetched, and that he had declined a pardon was a fact.

The thought that he had finally found someone to turn to, someone who would support him if he declared against Tudor, made John feel so happy he had no difficulty convincing Elizabeth of the fact the news of her pregnancy was the best he had ever heard. He was giddy the whole afternoon, and when he finally retired to his lodgings in the evening, he immediately made wrote to Lord Lovell.

The last he had heard, he had been in sanctuary in St. John`s Abbey in Colchester, which was convenient. Though the abbey was doubtlessly watched, no one would raise an eyebrow if a cleric entered it, bearing orders from the Suffolk household to let masses be read for John Howard, who had been closely associated with them and the abbey. No one would suspect such a cleric was one of the closest confidants of the Earl of Lincoln, rather than just a minor member of his household. No one would suspect him of carrying a letter. No one would suspect the money he had on him was not for masses for Lord Howard.

Nonetheless, John did his best to make his letter, telling him of the news and offering him support should he want to go against Tudor, sound as inconspicious as possible. Which did not mean he would not be in trouble if it was found - after all, brave Francis had voluntarily let himself be declared a traitor rather than accepting Tudor, which John found hugely admirable but at the same time a bit silly - but it would not tell any of Tudor`s men he was actively plotting against him. As soon as he had finished the letter, he made sure it was on its way. He gave his favourite cleric and confidant concise orders, then sent him away before he became scared of executing the plan.

For the next few days, he made certain he was seen at court, happy and in good cheer. He even brought himself to congratulate Tudor for soon having an heir, and to make a few jokes about that being good news to keep in mind while he was on progress, which Tudor seemed to find funny, even clapping him on the shoulder once. However, so as to not look too suspiciously happy, he also made certain several times to mention he was having masses read for Lord Howard, whose birthday would have been soon. After all, if he mentioned it prominently, no one would think this mission was something he wanted to hide, would they?

A little less than two weeks after he had sent the letter, just a few days before Tudor`s progress was to start, did his messenger return from Colchester, slipping him a small bit of parchment. “It`s as diplomatic as I could convince him to word it”, he muttered. John nodded at him, then looked at the small letter, the single sentence in Lord Lovell`s fine handwriting. “I am, as I always was and shall always remain, my rightful king`s true servant and friend”, it said. John could not suppress a grin. “I take it he agrees with my suggestion of .., what to do about Tudor?”, he asked quietly, and the cleric nodded. “He was planning to break sanctuary soon anyway to waylay him”, he said. “Abbot Walter told me he has been trying for weeks to convince him otherwise, but Lord Lovell will not listen. He has expressed much gratitude for your help, though.” John grinned. “Lord Lovell`s a hothead. And he much loved my uncle. Trying to convince him not to do something like this …” He shook his head. “Has he said where he intends to go?” His confidant only nodded. “I know how to find him if you wish to send him another message.” “Good.” John smiled at him, then dismissed him. He did not need to know where exactly Lord Lovell was. In case someone found out about his involvement - if he did not know where Lord Lovell was, he could not say.

He was at court when the news came only another week later, three days after Tudor had left London, that Lord Lovell had broken sanctuary, had declared rebellion against Tudor.

It was only with difficulty that John did not smile while the rest of the courtiers looked horrified.


	2. Chapter 2

Only a week after Tudor had left court to go on his progress, they learnt he might really be facing a rebellion soon.

John watched the mayhem this information caused with glee, having a hard time to maintain a solemn, worried expression as was expected of him, not to burst out laughing at the shock of those men who had, over the last months, taken such pleasure in showing him in so many subtle ways they now outranked him. It was most satisfying to watch them, hear them try to assure each other that the rumours were exaggerated, that there would never be a rebellion, that Lord Lovell had only quit sanctuary to flee into exile. He had even on one occasion taken joy in contradicting one of the men who said this, pretending to be worried, but had afterwards decided doing so was too risky. Since that time, he only watched and prayed Francis would be successful, imagined what it would be like to finally be able again to be recognised as the nephew of kings.

He did not allow himself to dream any further. Not yet. Doing so would only distract him, make him give himself away, and that was the last thing he wanted. He could not afford to throw even a tiny bit of suspicion on himself, not in the charged atmosphere of the court. John was all too aware that he had been spied on ever since his uncle`s death, but ever since the news had arrived of Francis`s escape, it was not even subtle anymore. He was being watched, and he was left in no doubt this was so. John could not even blame Tudor`s men for that; it was the most sensible thing they could do.

It grated on his nerves nonetheless.

The only person at court who seemed not to suspect him of plotting anything was his cousin Elizabeth, Tudor`s uncrowned queen. Like everybody else at court at least pretended to be, she was worried, but did not show any inhibition in talking to him. On the contrary, she sought him out more often than she had before to speak to him, to confide in him she was frightened.

John was sorry for her. It could not be easy, expecting a child, knowing that her husband and her status were in danger. In fact, it had to be utterly terrifying, and John swore to himself that if Francis`s rebellion was to succeed, he would be kind to her. He liked her, after all. She was a sweet, friendly person.

She just should have never been given the chance to call herself queen. She was only an illegitimate daughter of a king, married to an usurper. However nice she was as a person, she was no queen, and for all that he felt for her, it was not right he had to defer to her.

Elizabeth, however, clearly knew nothing of his thoughts, continued seeking him out for conversations, and when they learnt another one and a half weeks after they had had the news of Francis`s escape, that he and some fellow fugitives were indeed stirring up a rebellion, she came to him as soon as he entered court. “John!”

“Your grace.”, John answered, through his teeth. “I am terribly sorry. I have just heard -” “My husband is in real danger, isn`t he?”, Elizabeth interrupted him, and it was that lapse in manners that told John more about her state than her words. But what was he supposed to say to that? “I think so”, he answered after a short while, swallowing the words that were burning on his tongue. “After all -” But he trailed off.

He did not need to finish the sentence. Elizabeth had clearly understood. “Lord Lovell did much love our uncle”, she said, quietly. For a moment, John thought he saw sadness pass over her face, but before he could work out for whom it was - for their uncle, for Lord Lovell, for herself - it was gone, replaced by an expression of determination. “He will not succeed”, she said. “He cannot succeed. My husband did even offer him a pardon, and -”

John did not answer, could think of nothing to say. Anyone who had known his uncle and Francis would have known the latter would have never accepted a pardon, and unbidden, he thought of the words of his confessor, whom he had secretly sent to meet Francis before he had broken sanctuary. “You would barely recognise him”, he had said when John had asked him how he was doing. “He looks twice his age now. The abbot said after trying to attack Tudor`s men offering him a pardon, he collapsed, became so ill his life was despaired of. I am not sure he has truly recovered.” John`s hands clenched into fists at the thought, and he had to struggle not to let his feelings show.

Something must have told on his face, though, for Elizabeth looked intensely at him and then, unexpectedly, said: “I know. He never would have accepted, would he? There were rumours -” She gave a small, sad, smile. “I never asked Hen - my husband the king of the truth of them, if Lord Lovell truly did threaten him even then. I did not want to upset him.” She paused, put a hand on her still flat stomach. “But it does seem likely, doesn`t it?”

“Very”, John agreed, and then, because he could not think he could continue the conversation and keep dissembling, he added: “It`s all in God`s hands now.” Elizabeth nodded. “I pray for a good outcome every day.” “So do I”, John said, quite truthfully. “I have even lit candles.”

Elizabeth smiled at him, and John felt almost guilty.

She could not know that the good outcome he prayed for was her husband`s death.


	3. Chapter 3

Everybody`s good cheer was grating on John`s nerves.

It was not as if he had expected anything different, but actually having to experience it was worse than simply thinking about what it would be like. The constant congratulations to Tudor, the ceaseless mentions of God`s favour, the exaggerated exclaimations over the baby, it was all quickly becoming unbearable. Even worse was that he had to take part in it as well, had had to smile when the boy who was his first cousin once removed was shown to him, had had to remark that the tiny boy with his father`s prominent nose was the finest child he had ever seen, had even had to make a present. The day was not far off on which he would have to swear loyalty to the baby, and recognise this child of his illegitimate cousin and her usurper husband as heir to the throne. As rightful heir. If it had not been so infuriating, it would have been almost funny, an absurdity heightened by the fact that Tudor had chosen to call his son Arthur. Like the legendary king from whom he claimed to be descented - when hearing that, John had had to bit his lip so not as to snort with derision - and who, he claimed, the baby would one day emulate. The choice had received much applause and even the archbishop had addressed the child`s supposed ancestor and the promise the name was in his sermon, and John seemed to be the only one who realised that the baby had an uncle named the same. An illegitmate uncle. It was very apt, but he seemed the only one in the large congregation to think so. Everybody else was either masterful at dissembling, or they did not think of it, believed Tudor`s silly claim or did not care.

As he moved through the congregation, exchanging smiles and polite greetings with people, John was seething silently. How could everybody else stand it? How could they laugh and praise God when they knew fully well that the child had no more blood claim to the throne than his namesake uncle? John could only hope and pray that he could make sure the child never would inherit the throne his father had taken from his uncle, but the mere thought that there were those who thought he should, that they disregarded all proper claims of blood and inheritance by which he should have inherited the throne that had rightfully belonged to his uncle, was enough to spoil his mood in itself.

Not even the thought of taking the throne he had gained by illicit means and the devil`s luck in battle from Tudor could cheer John, not since he had received a short missive this morning from the men he knew would support him in doing so, who knew like him that Tudor should not be on the throne, that it was an outrage. His uncle`s ever loyal best friend, Francis Lovell, and the man he currently hid with until he could find a ship to take him abroad, Thomas Broughton. Usually, their short letters, send every week to inform him that everything was still fine and they were undiscovered and immediately answered by him for the same reason, cheered him - Lord Lovell`s sarcasm in reaction to everything that was happening was biting -, but this morning it had been a very curt missive from Thomas, informing him that Lord Lovell had been stricken with fever the same day the news of the birth of Tudor`s son had come, now lay delirious, recognising no one, asking for John`s uncle.

Francis had ever been a hale and hearty, strong, man, from the time John had met him as a boy, and against all reason, John blamed Tudor for his sudden tendency to illness, striking him for the second time in the span of a year. If he died, it would be on his conscience as well, as much as his Uncle Richard was.

If he died, it would make things so much more difficult for John. It would make things so much easier for Tudor.

This was not a thought he wanted to have during the christening, which was difficult enough to stand by itself. He tried to talk to his cousin Cecily - one of the baby`s many godparents - but she was so delighted by her nephew she spoke of nothing else, so that John ended the conversation as quickly as possible. He also exchanged a few words with his aunt, but she was equally focused on the little boy, extolling his virtues.

John thought that even had the child not been one who stood to inherit a throne that should have been his, it would have annoyed him. The boy was four days old! He could not even lift his head on his own! What was there to gush about yet, except that he was healthy, which was nice and a blessing for him but hardly made for fascinating conversation.

Some of his thoughts in that direction must have shown on his face, for when he walked away from his aunt, he heard a voice behind him, quietly, half-annoyed and half-amused, “You would think my lady mother has never had a grandchild before.”, and when he turned around he found himself faced with none other than Thomas Grey.

John was not too fond of the man - though whenever he saw him, he had to think of his Uncle Richard, who had despised him, grumbling about him defouling countless women and the Lord Percy`s ribald retort to that, and had to suppress a grin - but right at the moment, he seemed to be the only one in the room who was not in excesses of delight, and therefore automatically rose in John`s esteem. “It is her first royal grandchild”, he answered, after a moment, and Thomas nodded. “Yes, my children are not that.” His tone was dry. “I am very happy for my sister, and yet I do not see much difference in her son`s abilities at this age to that of my own boys.”

And he certainly had enough children to be able to know it. John did not even know how many, nor did he have any particular interest in knowing. Instead, therefore, of asking the obvious question, he said: “I suppose a difference may show in due time.”

Thomas gave him a look as if he was not certain he was being mocked, but John returned it steadily, keeping his face entirely under control, and after a moment, Thomas nodded. “So it may.” He paused, then went on, lowering his voice: “I do hope for my nephew he will grow into that nose.”

Despite himself, John gave a shout of laughter, forgot all caution for a moment. “Not if he takes after his father”, he said, and Thomas grinned, “Very true.” Lifting the cup he was holding, he held it in John`s direction, waited until John had lifted his own to clink them against each other. “Then -” he said, with a smile far more cordial than anything he had ever bestowed on John before, “to my nephew. May he take after my sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written after a prompt on tumblr, about Thomas Grey and John de la Pole at Arthur Tudor`s christening. Thomas Grey was imprisoned during the Simnel Rebellion, so there`s been discussion why. The prompt was that he was only doing something harmless together with John, which could later be misconstrued as possibly speaking against Henry`s rule.


	4. Chapter 4

His aunt Margaret`s court, though naturally smaller than both his uncles` had been and even the usurper Tudor`s was, was quite impressive, populated by learned and interesting men. The dowager duchess was accommodating to guests and encouraged learning, so that there was no shortage of men not only from Burgundy but also other nations who came to her, and she was very proud of the fact, had already told him she regarded it as both her joy and her duty to support them.

John was completely in awe of her, and despite the fact he barely knew her, already admired her immensely. Her splendid court was but one facet of her interesting life; she was also entrusted with the care of her step-grandchildren, who clearly adored her, trusted by her son-in-law, the powerful King of the Romans, to rule the duchy in the name of his son in her absence, and was making concrete plans to overthrow the usurper Tudor. And though it was the latter he had come to her court for and his interest in her other pursuits was less pronounced, John had no doubt she would and was succeeding splendidly at them all.

This had given him some hope, for though he had fled Tudor`s court after some very long, miserable months of defering to the usurper, he had not been quite sure what to expect in Burgundy, some unfinished notions of rebelling or a ready-made plan. As soon as he had met Margaret again, though - for only the second time in his life - such questions had been answered decisively. Almost as tall as him and with a very direct, though not unkind, look in her eyes, she had struck him from the first as a woman of action, and getting to know her had only affirmed this impression. John, relieved, had concluded it was unthinkable that she, intelligent, determined and of the most noble of blood too, could possibly lose against a man such as Tudor. Their rebellion had to succeed. Anything else was absolutely unthinkable in Margaret`s presence. John much enjoyed her company.

He had naturally also talked with the other rebels at her court - not that it were all that many -, but none of them had given him any such feeling of certainty. They were quite as determined as Margaret was, he thought, but none of them exuded her sense of calm, of simply doing something unpleasant but essentially simple that needed to be done. Only one other person but Margaret seemed to regard it as the natural thing to do, not anything to be questioned, as obvious as breathing, and that person was his uncle Richard`s best friend, Lord Lovell, in whose presence John found it increasingly hard to be.

He had been shocked when first meeting him again after the battle that had killed his uncle Richard one and a half years ago. John had always liked the lord, ever since he had met him when he had been a child and Lord Lovell an adolescent, had enjoyed his dry humour and been amused by his hot-temperedness. But he was a shadow of his former self now, thin, pale and with a look of pain in his eyes that chilled John to the bone. He seemed to want to talk of nothing but either times gone by or the upcoming overthrow of Tudor, and John sometimes felt like he was speaking with an old man when talking to him, though Lord Lovell was not even quite eight years older than him.

It made him feel a mixture of pity and irritation, which was as little conductive to conversations as Lord Lovell`s general disinterest in everything that was going on around him, and the lord was mostly found alone in the gardens of Margaret`s large manor.

Margaret herself seemed to be the only one who could break through his shield of grief and anger, who seemed to understand him, and John had even seen him smile slightly while she talked to him. Not that this was surprising - John knew if Margaret had ordered him to smile, he would have without daring to ask why - but he wished he could approach him like that as well. After all, he was the one John knew best from everyone at court. He would have been the obvious one with whom to speak of the future, of what they would do when they had overthrown Tudor. Lord Lovell was of high standing and would be of importance, but the future after Tudor`s death did not seem to touch him, and when John finally decided to address the subject when encountering him in the gardens, he looked at him as if he feared for his sanity: “We kill Tudor”, he said then.

“Well yes, of course”, John answered, surprised and a bit annoyed. Was the lord being deliberately obtuse? “I mean -” “Hanged, drawn and quartered”, Lord Lovell went on, as if he had not been interrupted. “I want to see him suffer.”

John stared at him for a moment. “Yes”, he said then, nodding. Thinking of the aftermath of the battle that had killed his uncle, the horror when he had learned what had happened then, he did not have to lie when he added: “I can understand that. But -” He broke off when he saw the lord`s face darkening, and lifted a hand. “I`m not contradicting you. I was simply wishing to speak of what we`ll do afterwards. When Tudor has gone to hell.”

Lord Lovell shrugged. “I don`t know”, he said, with a tone of voice that clearly implied he did not care as well. “Execute Tudor`s adherents.” John saw him swallow. “Give Richard a proper grave.” 

“Marry off my cousin?”, John asked after a moment, when the lord did not go on and his eyes became dull. “To some minor nobleman?”

Lord Lovell nodded, clearly without any interest. “I suppose so. She will be glad to be rid of the usurper.” John smiled slightly at that. “Yes, perhaps. I could never see what she thinks of him.” At that, Lord Lovell glared at him. “What can she think of him? He is a murderer, an usurper. He killed -” “Yes, I know”, John answered quickly, hoping to pre-empt a lecture - the merest mention of Tudor was enough to send Lord Lovell into a towering rage. “But you never know what goes on in the mind of a woman, do you? And she naturally a virgin when she came to his bed …”

Lord Lovell gave him a disgusted look. “She never did seem wanton to me when she was at Richard`s court, but either she is that or the usurper forced himself on her before he married her”, he then said. “Their brat was born -” “Too early, yes”, John completed, not bothering to hide a grin. He had noticed that too, naturally, and had taken some enjoyment in making innocuous-sounding remarks in the earshot of the servants, so that soon after the birth of Tudor`s son, there had been whispers everywhere about this fact, and his cousin`s physician had finally made the statement that the child had been slightly premature. If this was so, John did not know and did not care much. 

“She will have a good husband when the usurper`s dead”, Lord Lovell went on, clearly having no interest whatsoever in gossip. “As Richard wanted to give her, though naturally not as high of standing. Not one who forces her to come to his bed.” He swallowed again. “Richard would have been horrified.”

John shrugged again. His uncle would indeed have been horrified had his cousin been forced to someone`s bed, but he did not share Lord Lovell`s certainty this had happened. “Perhaps she did want to?”, he suggested therefore. “She listened to his promises, perhaps? She did not seem unhappy when I left.” “She could hardly show anything else, could she?”, Lord Lovell answered. “The thought -” “True, she couldn`t”, John said, wondering why he had even started this discussion. It should have been clear to him what the lord would think. “But perhaps, she feels that the first man she had - you never know what promises he made her, what he did -”

Lord Lovell went even paler than he already was. “I - don`t even want - he murdered Richard”, he said, voice shaking. “His niece - for sexual favours from a murderer - his own niece would betray - “ He broke off, then said: “I feel sick.” before turning and walking quickly back towards Margaret`s manor. John stared after him for a moment, then shook his head to himself at the lord`s theatrics. He did not know if feeling unwell had been an excuse to leave now or a genuine statement, but it was silly, certainly. He could not understand Lord Lovell anymore.

Presumably, only his aunt Margaret could now.


	5. Chapter 5

The weather had finally turned.

For several weeks, practically from the moment that John had arrived in Burgundy, it had been stormy and unpredictable, preventing them from setting sail to Ireland. Since a passage to there was already considered difficult under the best of circumstances, there had been no thought of attempting it anyway. But now the conditions had changed and everything was ready for them to leave. As soon as Whitsun was over, they would make their way to Ireland.

John was glad for it. The last weeks had been busy, and it had been a pleasure to have some time to get to know his aunt whom he had only met one before, but over the last days, he had started to grow restless. Ever since everything had been prepared, but they could still not leave, he had been slightly nervous. After all, there was a lot to be done in Ireland, and the sooner they arrived there, the better. Every day they had to sit idly and wait was a day Tudor could use to strengthen his hold on the throne, and therefore John had been relieved when hearing that their wait was over and that after Whitsun, they would leave.

He had had to admit that this thought had distracted him somewhat from everything else that was going on, and that not even during the mass said for the holy day had he been able to pay attention. He had attended the mass naturally, together with his aunt Margaret, her court, young Edward and Francis, but his attention had wandered. John knew it should not have, and he would have to confess it, but he had not been able to help it. Instead of listening to the priest and directing his thoughts towards the miracles of their Lord and Saviour, he had found himself thinking of their upcoming tasks in Ireland, as well as about his fellow rebels. He had watched them, wondering if they, too, had trouble focusing, but he had not been able to tell. His aunt Margaret`s face had been, as usual, unreadable. Francis had stared past the priest, into the distance as if focused on something only he could see, as he did so often now. John had never asked him what he was thinking during such moments, and he did not want to imagine. Young Edward had looked like he was listening to the mass intently. If he was troubled or excited by thoughts of their upcoming journey, he had given no sign of it.

As customary, after mass, the court had retired, so that everyone could do whatever they wished. The theory was, of course, that people contemplated religious matters, but this seemed to be happening as little at his aunt Margaret`s court as it had at his uncle Edward`s. Even at his uncle Richard`s court, it had been more theory than fact, though his uncle himself had been very devout.

John found no patience for even attempting anything of the sort. Instead, he walked through the court, chatting with people until finally, lost for anything to do, he had wandered into his aunt Margaret`s lush gardens, without any plan of what he intended to do there.

Perhaps he would have turned after walking only a few steps to go back into the manison, had he not spotted a lone figure by one of his aunt`s large ponds, a lonely figure he immediately recognised despite being not particularly close. Francis.

Pleased, John started to walk to him. If anyone understood his restlessness, his need to be on the way to Ireland, it would be Francis. Francis, who had had trouble sitting still ever since he had met him again at his aunt`s court. Who spent whole days walking through the gardens. Who seemed to be living solely for revenge for John`s uncle`s death now.

Walking towards him, John called to him, but Francis did not turn around, perhaps did not hear him. John thought he was making pebbles skip over the water of the pond, as he heard splashing, but as he came closer, he saw that Francis was simply hurling pebbles into the water, not even attempting to make them bounce. He seemed to be standing almost in the pond, and the hems of his trousers were wet with the water that splashed when he threw the small stones. He did not seem to either notice or care, though, and John started to be slightly alarmed.

“Francis!” His voice was louder when he tried calling him again, but still he stood almost next to him when the older man finally turned around. “John”, he murmured in acknowledgement, but said nothing more. His hand, still holding some pebbles, was trembling, and John`s alarm grew. “Are you alright?”

Francis looked at him. “As always”, he answered after a moment. “The thought that - that the usurper is now celebrating Whitsun - giving thanks -” He broke off abruptly, hurling all remaining pebbles into the pond with a snarl. John made to touch his arm, hesitated. Francis did not take attempts at comfort particularly well. Instead, he said, after a moment: “It will be the last time, we`ll make sure of that.” Then, remembering Easter at Tudor`s court, he added: “In any case, he may find it a bit tense.”

“He deserves to suffer.” Francis`s voice was cold. “For what he did -” “He will”, John assured him, cutting across him, knowing the older man could talk himself into a rage if he wasn`t stopped immediately. “But until that time, he may not find much comfort in assemblies at his court. At least if it continues as it was at Easter…”

He thought he saw slight curiosity in Francis`s eyes, and continued quickly, in the hope of distracting him. “Tudor`s mother and his mother-in-law found themselves … not getting alone very well. Perhaps he will find himself caught between his wife and his mother, for my aunt Elizabeth figures she should be given more respect and Tudor`s mother is given too much of it. Tudor`s mother, as you may guess, disagrees.”

He gave Francis a grin, and much to his surprise, the other man gave a laugh. It was a sound rarely heard now, but for a moment Francis seemed genuinely amused. “Is your aunt Elizabeth dissatisfied?”, he asked. “I hope she makes a fuss, as she showed us she can do so well. I hope the usurper faces hell from her.”

John joined in the laughter, glad to have cheered Francis, and decided not to ask what he thought about finally being able to leave. It was no use, and would probably only hurt him.

It really would be good to leave, though, if only because it would give Francis more to do and stop him from dwelling on his losses.

It really was time to leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another prompt, about John telling Francis about possible tensions between Elizabeth Woodville and Margaret Beaufort at Henry VII`s court.


	6. Chapter 6

The coronation would take place tomorrow.

The ancient city of Dublin was already decked out in preparation, and the castle in which they were staying was busily readying itself for the festivities. Cooks had been working for days, messengers arriving at all times, Irish nobles arriving to take part. Everyone was already waiting impatiently.

Their young charge, too, was ready for the ceremony - they had been going over what he would have to expect so often now he could have probably done it in his sleep, and John thought wrily his uncles Richard and Edward had probably arrived at their coronation less prepared than young Edward would. Barring some unforeseeable accident, everything would be fine tomorrow. Rationally, there was no reason to worry at all, but as John lay in bed in his chamber in Dublin Castle, he worried anyway.

Francis was screaming again in the room next to his, his cries audible even through the thick stone walls.

John was usually an optimistic person, not given to premonitions and doomsayers. He knew that they were doing all they could, that their rebellion was proceeding just as it had been planned, that their chances were good. The had Irish support, capable German mercenaries - and their rather alarming new weapons - and the assurance of several spies that while the English population was not ready to commit themselves to their cause, they would be pleased should it succeed. John was always rather wary about such assurances, which doubtlessly the Tudor had also received before his invasion, but it ultimately did not matter what the population thought, and the nobility would know well to support them should they be successful. All in all, he therefore thought they could be satisfied with what they had achieved so far. Once they had defeated Tudor, they could march on London, take over the government and secure the person of his cousin and her son - the boy would have to be raised in a monastry under close watch, but that was something to ponder then - and weed out or win over Tudor`s supporters. All in all, the plan was completely straightforward, and would only become overly complicated if he mulled over it too long. There was really no reason to.

But sometimes, like this night, he could not help himself. Sometimes it seemed hopeless, and he wondered if his uncle Edward had felt the same when his cousin had driven him into exile. Had he, too, sometimes felt like despairing for no good reason, suddenly convinced that what he was planning could never succeed? John, remembering Edward as a self-confident giant of a man, could not believe it. Could not believe he had ever had doubts about himself, but John did.

Like today, it usually happened at night, after working optimistically all day. The darkness seemed to foster fears he usually did not have, and the noise of Francis being plagued by nightmares in the next room did not help.

John had been startled when he had first awoken to the viscount screaming months ago, but had soon found it was a regular occurence. Francis yelled for his uncle, for other men who had been at his uncle`s court, and sometimes he was unintelligible. His shouts of “Richard, Richard” broke John`s heart, and the occasional screams of: “Richard, stay, don`t”, were even worse. It was hardly a miracle he had gloomy thoughts when having to hear this

John pulled his pillow over his head, trying to block out the noise and the worry. This was silly. Tomorrow would be the coronation, and soon they would be on their way to England. Soon they would be engaging the Tudor in battle and , with God`s grace, they would win. If God did not smile on them - well, there was nothing they would be able to do in that case anyway. They had done all they could to make sure they would be successful. The coronation tomorrow would be the last step. Young Edward would be anointed then. Ready to be king. It would be a splendid celebration to. Something to look forward to.

Despite these thoughts, John could not sleep for half the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set exactly on the night of the 23rd to 24th of May 1487 - the night before Lambert Simnel was crowned. Lincoln calls him Edward because that`s who they said he was and presumably even if he wasn`t, they would have called him that.

**Author's Note:**

> I don`t believe John de la Pole and Francis Lovell were in contact that early already. It is, however, possible. Since I wrote it the way I think it may have really happened in my story about Francis`s life, I explored another possibility of what might have happened here.
> 
> As always, "The Sunne in Splendour" and "The White Queen" are tagged for lack of other fandoms with these people.


End file.
